Ice and Arsenic
by teahonorandzuko
Summary: This is the story of how some of the most powerful people in history became tyrants, legends, and tragedies. This is not a happy story; life so rarely is, after all. This is the true tale; from their divinely inspired beginning to their terrible ends. Zutara and Tokka.


A/N: I haven't written anything in so so long, please don't judge too harshly! Although it's your life, so do what you want.

A:tLA does not belong to me, of course.

And the quotation "from their divinely inspired beginning to their terrible ends" in the description is from Barbara Kingsolver's Poisonwood Bible. Just so you know. Go read it. It's slamming.

I'm going to try to keep chapters at about 1000 words each, but I'm honestly just writing this chapter by chapter (I'm almost done with the second one!) so who knows. Chapters most likely will **not** be consistent. I'm just going to warn you I'm really bad with that kind of thing. I also have no idea how long this will be, but I don't think it'll be short. Take some solace in the fact that I do vaguely know where I'm going with this!

I should probably let you know the basic premise/background of what's going on. Basically everything that happened in the show (aside from Lu Ten, and Yue's deaths) happened, just without Katara being there. And Ozai and Azula are dead. And I'm just going to ignore the existence of some characters cause I do what I want. BUT OTHERWISE yeah. Just bear with me, it'll be an adventure! Maybe. Hopefully. OK just read it already.

OH and last thing, kinda, this will be rated M for very...ummm. Dark? Themes. Nothing overly explicit, but yeah. I'm going to do my best to depress you all.

OK well enjoy.

* * *

You may ask how one person could possibly know the intricate lives of these powerful people.

All I will tell you, is I am not one person.

I am the heat and flame of the Fire Nation.

I am the ice and snow of the Watertribes.

I am the forests of the Earth Kingdom.

I am the gentle breeze and the whirling forces of the Air Nomads.

I am simply . . . an observer, a teller of histories.

* * *

The rain pours from the sky in thick sheets, the flickering lightning reflects in the puddles quickly forming along the narrow, winding path.

A lone woman staggers along the path, stumbling and fighting against the wind and rain. Strapped to her back in an almost archaic basket contraption, a young child can be seen crying and trembling at every instance of the ear-piercing thunder.

The pale blues of the mother and daughter's tunics are drenched with the monsoon like rain, and as lightening strikes just in front of them, a large branch falls in their path and the mother seems to give up. Her bone-thin legs succumb to their quivering plea to be at rest, and she falls to her knees, panting with the effort of not falling completely over. The Watertribe woman unties a strap of cloth at her waist, and draws her child to her chest.

If one were right beside the pair, they might be able to hear the softly spoken words of apology from a heartbroken mother, to a young daughter; a daughter whose life was worth so much more than her own. The mother remembers just a short time ago when life was so much simpler.

* * *

_"__Sokka! What on earth are you doing to your sister?" The exasperated question is met with big 'innocent' eyes, as the young mother looks upon her son, currently shoving his pickled sea prunes down the back of his little sister's tunic. _

_In reply, the giggling five-year-old boy promptly slides off his seat and begins running around the kitchen, yelling out "Prunes, ew!" repeatedly. Wondering when Sokka's fickle eating habits will end, Kya shoos him out of the house, and quickly rids Katara of her prune infused clothes. The little tribeswoman however, seems completely unfazed by the sea prunes caked on her back, shouting out something closely resembling Sokka's "Prunes, ew!" mantra, followed quickly by much giggling and hand waving. _

_As Kya settles her talkative daughter into the large kitchen basin, the lukewarm water rises up to meet the toddler's chubby hands._

_With the small wave of water moving seemingly of it's own accord, their lives would never be the same._

* * *

As tears leak from the eyes of the too young to die Watertribe mother, they mix with the rain forging trails down her cheeks and into the collar of her outer most robes. The mother doesn't cry for her own discomfort. She doesn't cry for her shaking limbs or her stomach, even now panging with hunger. She cries for her child, the child who doesn't—can't understand what's happening.

She cries for the life her daughter will have to live if she survives their current situation. She cries the tears of a mother willingly sacrificing everything so her children can live. She cries the tears of a wife who hasn't seen her husband in weeks, and knows she will never see him again.

As Kya's last breaths are wrung from her lungs and her vision begins to fade, she is filled only with desperation.

The mother knows her remaining time is short, and she can do no more for her daughter.

With her last remnants of strength, the once strong woman wraps her arms tighter around the daughter who most be kept safe, a daughter whose gift in a world full of hate and war must be kept hidden.

Kya devotes her last moments to her memories. The first time she went penguin sledding, when she met Hakoda, their wedding, and the births of Sokka and Katara.

As the memories of her life pass through her thoughts, her spirit passes into its next existence.

* * *

Along the heavily wooded path, a boy of perhaps 12 or 13 trots steadily along, keeping ahead of his hobbling mother.

The blue of his eyes contrast sharply with the deep red of his tunic; blue eyes that match the eyes of the woman following after him. The boy sees a fallen branch in the path, the pale blue Watertribe clothing standing out from the bark, much like his eyes do amidst the sea of golden irises in the Fire Nation.

As the boy begins running toward the fallen tree limb, his mother calls after him, "Haiko! Where are you going?" trying to pick up her pace.

Katara sits in the shadow of her mother's body. The puddles surrounding the child, as well as her still soaked clothing, can attest to the tempest's recent withdraw. The toddler's chubby hands involuntarily pulled at the water around her, making the puddles appear to have their own individual tides.

Haiko, in his overwhelming curiosity failed to notice the puddles being pulled in Katara's direction, but his mother coming up behind him certainly did not.

Hama was not daft in any sense of the word. She took note of the whalebone combs in the –now dead- mother's hair. She took note of the intricate designs on the child carrier lying beside the body, clearly Southern in style. And of course, she took note of the way the pools of water responded to the young child's waving hands.

A Southern water bender, a rare sight anywhere, let alone in the Fire Nation.

Hama's cunning mind began working out a plan immediately, and as Haiko rummaged through the meager belongings of the dead, Hama's thin lips stretched into something resembling the smirk of someone who knows they are going to win.

* * *

A/N: I clearly have no clue what I'm doing, so any suggestions as far as grammar/spelling/punctuation are greatly appreciated! And for the love of all things holy and demonic, if you notice any plot holes (or anything, really) please please let me know.

Thank you!


End file.
